The Outer One, Azathoth, existed in a state of perpetual, lazy incomprehension.
It was the ultimate beginning and the inevitable end, a chaotic swirl of energy born from the active, abstract desire of the Writer—the transcendent, unseen creator—to "delete" his own intricate narratives.
For Azathoth, reality was less a thing to interact with and more a vast, tedious dream.
It possessed power so immense that nourishment was a joke, a concept relevant only to lesser, striving Outer Ones.
Its preferred state was one of drifting, oblivious slumber within the infinite library of the writer.
But it was a flicker of the Writer's attention, an almost imperceptible concentration upon one particular narrative—a Book containing the entire Hyperverse, the newly forged realm of Hades—that roused this supreme Primordial being.
